


Namedays

by thewolfhoundandlittlebird



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adult!Sansa, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Lemon, Masturbation, POV Sandor, POV Sansa, Sandor's tears, Slow Burn, but not so much, cloak, nameday, sansan, sansan smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 10:00:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4259127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewolfhoundandlittlebird/pseuds/thewolfhoundandlittlebird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa and Sandor exchange gifts on their namedays, and Sansa becomes emboldened.</p>
<p>Pretty close to a one-shot, definitely lemony. ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AU where all the remaining Starks are back in Winterfell. Everyone is aged up significantly: Sansa is 23, Sandor is 38. Everyone's happy(ish). Winter has passed, there's no impending doom. Sandor is the Master of Arms at Winterfell, Jon (is somehow) the Lord of Winterfell.
> 
> First time ever writing a story outside of essays n' stuff back in the day for school. So be gentle!

She had looked beautiful that night. Long auburn hair braided simply at the top in the northern way, cascading down her back in loose waves. Sandor looked upon her in tempered awe from the corner of the great hall as she courteously dismissed herself from the evening's festivities. It was her nameday, and as such, she felt entitled on this one day to excuse herself early to get some rest. Her lavender skirts billowed after her as she made her way out of the hall and to her rooms.

 

Sandor decided it was as good a time as any to leave, too. After all, he had only come to the function because it was being thrown for her. He'd been looking for an excuse to be alone with her all evening.

 

“My Lady,” he rasped as her trajectory passed by his corner, “would you like me to escort you back to your chambers?”

 

“Oh, Sandor. I didn't see you there. Yes, that would be lovely.” She granted him a demure smile as a blush rose to her cheeks.

 

_Seven hells,_ he thought _. She doesn't even know what she does to me._

 

The walk through the corridor was quiet enough, both walking along in comfortable silence until they reached the giant oak door that lead into her chambers. She turned to him and politely dipped into an abbreviated curtsey.

 

“Thank you, Sandor. I will see you on the morrow?”

 

“Yes, Little Bird. I-ah- I have something for you, for your nameday...” He trailed off, trying to hide the wince that flashed across his face as he thought about how foolish he sounded. _Still trying to compensate for all the times in Kings Landing you were an arse to her, eh?_ He fumbled around in the pocket of his trousers for the small parcel he'd gotten for her. Cautiously, he extended his hand out to her, presenting her with a small wooden box in the center of his large calloused hand. Her fingers grazed over his palm as she plucked the box from it. _Just that little touch and she's got me nervous as a green boy talking to his first girl..._

 

“Thank you, how kind of you. You didn't have to do this,” she said as she slid the top off the box, revealing a small, intricately carved silver tube. Wolves danced along the length of it, and at the very top, a small enamel bird perched, red as her fiery hair. “It's beautiful.”

 

“Open it,” he said, eager to see her reaction from its contents.

 

Gently, ever so gently, she twisted the bird around until it popped away from the tube, revealing a set of silver embroidery needles. He could tell she was touched by his thoughtfulness.

 

“I'll treasure them. Thank you, Sandor.” She twisted the bird back onto the tube, securing its contents and curled it into her palm. She leaned forward then, grasping his hands and rising up on her toes to plant a feather-light kiss on his scarred cheek. He was thankful for the dim lighting of the corridor, as it concealed the rush of heat he felt blooming up his neck and face after the brief contact. With that, she spun back around and disappeared into her rooms.

 

* * *

 

Sansa shut the great oak door to her rooms behind her, and leaned up against them. She clasped her hands up to her chest, cradling the tube of needles in her hands as she sunk down to the floor. Never had someone given her something so beautiful and thoughtful. _I must make him something with these. His nameday is coming up as well, though I doubt that he will even mention it._

 

She rose then, placing the tube on the nightstand next to her bed, next to all the other things she held dear. Well, the ones that would fit on a nightstand, anyway. Thinking on such things, she slipped off her shoes and padded over to her chest at the foot of the bed, carefully removing her summer silks to extract the giant woolen cloak at the bottom. She wrapped herself in it and melted into her bed, quickly drifting off into a deep sleep surrounded by the smells still present in the cloak. It was musty and still smelled a little of smoke from the battle of the Blackwater, but there was also another scent, one that comforted her: _him_.

 

* * *

 

 

Sandor sulked back to his room near the armory. He had been offered a room in the halls of Winterfell proper, but declined, saying that he was more comfortable around weapons than he was people. _Really, I just don't trust myself around her. The farther away I am, the better. No one wants a dog to sleep in the house, anyway._

 

He loosened the ties on his tunic and trousers, and flung himself down on his pallet, exhausted from having to maintain appearances in front of the visiting lords and ladies for Sansa's nameday celebrations.

 

Soon though, despite his exhaustion, that familiar dream met him as he closed his eyes. She stood before him, wrapped only in his cloak, as she loosened her hold on it. It crept down her body, slowly revealing every inch of her perfect porcelain skin. _Gods, you're beautiful_.

 

His cock stirred as the dream continued.

 

She leaned over him, fiery hair scorching a path down his chest as she kissed her way lower.

 

He reached down, taking a hold of himself and stroking to ease the building sensation of his arousal.

 

She planted hot, wet kisses as she made her way down, holding herself up with one arm as she traced circles on his inner thigh, getting ever closer to his manhood.

 

He stroked his cock faster, feeling himself get closer, ever closer to that distant feeling of release.

 

Soft fingers caressed his balls as she lowered her perfect pink lips to take his engorged manhood into her mouth. _Seven hells_ _, that feels good_ , he thought as he imagined his hands threading through her hair to hold her there.

 

Her name was on his lips as his hips bucked one, two, three times. With a shudder and an almost pained expression twisted on his face, he came into his hand. Hot, sticky liquid dripped from his fist and slid its way down his cock into the thick patch of coarse hair at the base.

 

It was always the same dream. Sometimes she would do different things, but it was always her. Always his little bird that visited him in his sleep, coaxing him out from the peaceful tranquility of rest into her arms. But he almost felt ashamed for thinking of her in such a way. The Hound was the one who thought of her like that- all those years ago in Kings Landing. All those years ago when he would drink himself into a stupor and say nasty things to her, hoping to elicit a song or to force her to look at his horrible face. Things had changed since then. He'd quieted the rage he felt inside while he was on the Quite Isle. _I'm not the Hound_ , he thought as he wiped off his hand on his tunic and tossed it across the room. _And she'll never think of me the same, so just give it up._

 

With that, he relaxed into his pillows and drifted off to sleep, still imagining that she was there, nuzzled into him despite his best efforts to push her from his mind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I started out putting the finishing touches on what I thought was the last chapter for this thing, I ended up scrapping most of it and starting over.... so, I'm thinking that this might end up not being a one-shot after all. Rejoice? ;)
> 
> Short little chapter in the meantime while I try to figure out the rest of the story!

* * *

 

Sansa stirred as the first faint rays of dawn crept into her room, disrupting the dream she was having. She pulled  the  cloak over her eyes hoping to preserve the course of the dream as it was dragged back into the depths of her half-awake imagination.  _But there's that scent again. Him._ As she snuggled up into the  fabric of the cloak, she could only slightly grasp the last bits of the dream: nuzzling his neck as she lay next to him, their bodies twined with one another. A feeling of comfort and safety and  _home_ settled over her just as there was a rap at her chamber door.

 

“Lady Sansa?” She heard his deep voice rumble from the other side of the door. _Sandor. He must be here to escort me to the hall for breakfast._ She hurriedly got out of bed, regretting having to extract herself from the warm confines of the cloak.

 

“I'll be right there, Sandor, just let me change,” she called as she quickly changed into a new shift and wrapped herself in a dark purple overcoat with silver dragonflies delicately woven into the fabric.

 

“Aye, Little Bird, I'll be here waiting,” he replied, almost sadly.

 

As she padded over to where she left her shoes the night before, she gathered her long auburn hair to one side and began braiding it, slipping her shoes on as she did. “You can come in now,” she called out to him.

 

The immense door groaned as he slowly swung it open, catching sight of her braiding her hair. He was almost entranced watching her dextrous fingers weave the strands into place. As she finished up, his eyes wandered over to her bed and widened a little at the sight of his cloak hastily thrown across the top of it. Sansa's icy blue eyes met his stormy grey ones for just a second as she realized what he was looking at. _Oh, no! What must he think?_ A blush crept up her neck and suddenly her face was red with embarrassment. Ever the lady, she ignored the awkward circumstance of having obviously slept in the cloak of the man standing right in front of her. She hooked her arm in his, directing them out of her chambers and to the great hall for breakfast.

He said not a word throughout breakfast. Sansa awkwardly pushed her food around her plate, blushing furiously every time she tried to steal a glance towards the end of the table where he sat. Jon noticed her unusual behavior and tried to lure her into conversation.

"Any good plans for today, Sansa? Relaxing after last night's party, I would assume?"

Caught off guard, she quickly answered that she had plans on going into town, and asked if Jon would be interested in accompanying her.He gladly agreed, welcoming the opportunity to share time with her again, after all of the time that they had been apart previously.

After breakfast, she hurried back to her chambers, alone this time, in an attempt to avoid any more uncomfortable interactions with Sandor lest the maids not have cleaned her room by the time she got back. She let out a relieved sigh as she stepped through the door and saw that everything was straightened up, back to normal. _I must remember to wake up earlier. I can't imagine what they thought when they saw that._

She grabbed her riding boots out of her wardrobe and slipped them on hastily, eager to get on the road into town. She grabbed her riding cloak as she headed out of her room, and flew down the stairs to meet with Jon in the stables.

 

 

* * *

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda struggled with this chapter and getting it around to lead up to how I'd like the work to end, so apologies if it seems a little out of place. Just go with it. ;)

 

As the sun was setting over the north, the clinking of dulled training swords drowned out almost everything else in Winterfell's courtyard. Sandor leaned on a post of the stables as he supervised the young boys as they practiced dueling. One boy with a mop of blonde hair atop his head was getting rather good at it, though his opponent, a much rounder child, was a little slow to keep up. Begrudgingly, Sandor pushed himself away from the post and walked over to the children, telling the slower boy to watch as he instructed him, _yet again,_ how to swing a sword. Just as he brought the sword up from swinging it out to the side, he turned and saw Jon and Sansa riding back in through the gates.Her mare carried significantly more in her saddlebags than he remembered when she left.

 

Sandor called an end to sword practice and headed over to the stables as the boys dispersed from the yard. As he walked down the center of the stables, he could see her feeding her mare an apple, unfortunately right next to Stranger. _I swear if I didn't know better, I would think he's glaring at me. At least it'_ _ll give me_ _an excuse to talk to her._ A stable boy hefted the saddlebags past him as he picked up an apple from the bucket in the middle of the stalls and strode up next to Sansa. Stranger gave an appreciative nicker as he produced the apple in front of his nose. “There, Stranger. Wouldn't want you getting jealous, now would we?”

 

“He's calmed down quite a bit from the horse he was in King's Landing,” she remarked, giving him a gentle scratch on the nose.

 

“Perhaps it's the company,” he almost couldn't look her in the eye even as he said it. _Green. Boy. You're acting like a buggering green boy._

 

“Perhaps he's not the only one who's benefited from the improvement in company,” she said, knowingly, as she delicately placed a hand on his extended forearm. Stranger eyed them suspiciously. “Would you mind escorting me back to the castle?”

 

They each gave their horses a last scratch on the nose, and turned to head back to the castle. They didn't have far to go to get back to the main hall, just across the courtyard, and Sandor thought that it might be a good time to bring up what had happened earlier that morning. He couldn't get the image out of his head of his cloak strewn across her bed. _Was she sleeping in it? Where did she even get that? And why mine, of all of them? It looks like it hasn't even been washed since… since… that night. The night I finally disobeyed my masters… for her…_

 

He cleared his throat and hesitantly began, “My lady?”

 

“Hmm?” She seemed lost in thought, adjusting her hand on his arm at the disruption. It now curiously curled around his bicep.

 

“I couldn't help noticing this morning what was on top of your bed. It looked familiar,” he managed to choke out, instantly regretting his decision to bring it up. But he just couldn't let it go. It had been bothering him all day.

 

She tensed up immediately, giving his arm a slight squeeze. He noticed a becoming blush creep up her neck, though barely detectable in the low light of the twilight around them. _Ha! Got her now._

 

“It brings me comfort.” He didn't see that one coming. She paused before explaining, “I get nightmares. Everything that happened to me in King's Landing. Petyr. Ramsay.” She had started out boldly, he was surprised she hadn't tried to change the subject, but as she ended her sentence, her voice quivered, just barely over a whisper. “You don't want it back, do you?” She looked up pleadingly into his eyes, the rims of hers threatening to let welled up tears fall down her perfect cheeks.

 

The corners of his mouth twitched at her admission. “No, little bird. I don't need it.” His arm ached with the need to pull her to him, sheltering her until she didn't fear anything anymore. But at her admission, knowing now that he was able to grant her that comfort, his heart soared, carried off by a little red bird.

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa closed the heavy door to her chambers, listening for the muffled sound of his bootsteps to disappear down the hallway before heaving a sigh of relief. She hadn't expected to let slip anything about the cloak. _I thought for sure he would have forgotten about that by now._ But now, in the silence of her room, she was glad she did. It felt better not to keep that from him. After all, she trusted him. He'd never lied to her, and somehow, covering it up, however embarrassing, felt a little like lying to him. She pushed aside her thoughts of how she must have looked to him, silly little girl crying over nightmares.

 

The stable boy had dropped off the contents of her saddlebags near the plush chair by her fireplace. She unfastened her cloak and hung it up on the peg on the wall, grateful to be rid of its weight, and set about unloading the things she had purchased from town. Once everything was laid out, she padded over to the chest at the foot of her bed and extracted the his cloak from the top of the stacked clothes inside. Regrettably, she noticed, the maids hadn't put it back where she normally kept it, buried underneath her summer silks so as to conceal it from any prying eyes. But now that he knew she had it, she supposed, there's really no point hiding it anymore. _And it's more readily accessible now_.

 

She unrolled one of the bolts of fabric she had procured and laid his cloak down on top of it, carefully measuring it before she cut out a pattern from the fabric underneath around its edges. She hummed happily as she set about her work, thinking about their encounter earlier.She could have sworn that her hand had gripped steel when she had moved her hand over his bicep earlier. It made her wonder if the rest of him felt the same. _I wouldn't mind being wrapped in his arms rather than this tattered cloak,_ she thought absentmindedly as she pushed herself off the stone floor and gathered the newly cut fabric in her hands. She plopped down on the nearby chair and set about stitching, still thinking of what it might be like…

 

* * *

 

Months had passed since she had first decided what to give Sandor for his nameday. Autumn had arrived and brought a chill in the air with it. The leaves outside her window floated effortlessly from the trees around the castle walls. All except the weirwood tree, which still stood proud against the cloudy skies, a testament to the heartiness of the North.

 

The fire crackled from the hearth to her right as she tied the knot of the last stitch of her work, sealing her months of careful work. She sat for a moment, running her hands over the embroidery. She remembered, again, the imagined scenarios that had motivated her to complete it. _All of which include him,_ she thought fondly.

 

Although most of her time had been occupied with completing her present for him, she had still managed to spend her afternoons watching him train the boys in the courtyard. She couldn't help it. Much as she tried to act the lady, she had to concede to herself that her excuse of “observing how the training going” was wearing rather thin. Jon had even caught her a few times slyly observing Sandor as he swung his broadsword, ever trying to improve the boys' understanding of proper sword handling. She giggled at that, _sword handling_. But his tunic was more readily lifted these days when he was not wearing armor, briefly exposing his toned midsection. She supposed she was studying him, committing him to memory for later.

 

Thoughts of such _sword handling_ fluttered away as she stood up, shaking out the fabric piled on her lap and holding it at arms length to look upon it critically. _Yes, this will do wonderfully_. She neatly folded it and pulled a ribbon out of the drawer of her desk to wrap around it. The package sat on the edge of her bed, awaiting its intended owner, while she dressed for dinner.

 

She knew that Jon had arranged an impressive dinner for Sandor's nameday, and she wanted to look lovely for the occasion. Her wardrobe doors hung open, displaying all of her fine dresses and she ran her fingers over them, selecting a powdery blue one from the assortment. It truly was lovely, with silver embroidery around the low neckline, and a full skirt perfect for twirling. Her handmaidens helped her braid her hair into a soft updo, exposing her long porcelain neck. At last, she was ready to head down to the hall for dinner. _Hopefully I'll be able to keep my thoughts from wandering too far._

 

* * *

 

Sandor rarely took baths in his room, much preferring to be out in the hot springs near the castle than awkwardly scrunching up his massive frame in the tiny tubs. But tonight, he made an exception, for once not wanting to walk the distance to the pools. He scrubbed away the dirt from the training yards until his skin was pink. He stood from the small tub and ran his fingers through his wet hair, still trying, as ever, to ignore the feeling of his scarred scalp underneath them. He was really not looking forward to having to look presentable for this _buggering dinner_ , but he knew that Sansa would be there, probably looking like the perfect angel that she was. He couldn't deny going if she were going to be there. Just thinking about her caused that familiar rush to his nether regions and he was hard pressed not to attend to it. As he reached down to take his throbbing cock in his massive hand, his imagination was drawn to her sitting on the benches in the training yard, not even trying to hide her roaming eyes. She was becoming less like the lady he had first met with every passing day, and he swore that sometimes she almost looked at him _hungrily._ The thought of her thinking of him like that brought him a swift release.

 

He was no longer ashamed about what he did in his quarters when she appeared in his lucid dreams, especially with his suspicions that she might be doing the same in hers. Though he wanted desperately to know if there was any truth in that, he vowed to himself never to attempt anything with her unless she instigated it. _I'm no longer the Hound, there are no masters giving me orders. I have to rein in my own leash._

 

He tugged a fresh tunic over his broad shoulders and laced up his breeches. Bending, he pulled on his boots and headed out the door. _Let's get this buggering dinner over with._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quickie. ;) Three cheers for adult!Sansa knowing what she wants.

* * *

Sansa, Jon, and several others were already seated when Sandor stepped into the hall. Candle light flickered down from the chandeliers hoisted above the communal table, casting everything in a warm, welcoming glow. _How things have changed over the past years. To be welcomed as an equal._ His heart felt lighter just thinking about it. How the Starks, despite his prior allegiance to the Lannisters, had welcomed him into their home, in no small part thanks to Sansa. He remembered how she had stood up for him, for his character, when he had limped in through the gates after receiving word in the Quiet Isles that the Starks had reclaimed Winterfell.

 

He took his seat at the end of the table, oddly placed opposite Jon. He stared unashamedly at Sansa, her back straight and hands placed delicately in her lap. She met his eyes with equal interest. _Gods, she's beautiful_. The light from the candles caught the edges of the crown of braids atop her head, likening her to the Maiden herself.

 

Jon cleared his throat, breaking the moment. “Happy nameday, Sandor.” He gestured to the spread on the table, a lavish display of roasted meats, glazed root vegetables, rolls, cheeses, and of course, flagons of sour Dornish red. Everyone held up their glasses in toast, all eyes on him. Never before had he felt more included. He couldn't help it as a smile came to his gnarled lips. He'd never expected anyone to do this for him; he'd been all but ignored for most of his life, and that was putting it lightly.

 

Dinner commenced, and by the time that everyone had their fill, it was nearly midnight. They all sleepily stood to depart and he graciously thanked them for putting on such a feast. Only Sansa and Sandor remained in the room. She walked over to him, her arm out to the side and her fingers brushing over the tops of the dining chairs as she crossed the room.

 

She stood before him, and reached up to place her hands on each of his cheeks. She gently ran her thumb across the ruined one as she looked into his eyes earnestly. He could only meet the deep blue pools of her eyes as he stared at her, wondering _what the bloody hell_ she was doing. She pulled his face down just then, even with her own, and placed a warm, delicate kiss on his forehead.

 

“Happy nameday, Sandor.”

 

And with that, she slowly walked out of the hall back to her chambers, leaving behind Sandor, frozen in place, mouth slightly agape as he watched her leave.

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa hurriedly tiptoed back to her room, her insides a wreck of nervous butterflies after her brazen departure from dinner. She threw open her chamber door and flew to the package still sitting on the edge of her bed, still neatly bundled in the ribbon she had wrapped around it. She fingered the silky ribbon, biting her lip as she smiled down at it. She'd been carefully planning her actions this evening. _I'm ready for this,_ she thought, far beyond trying to convince herself. Her curiosity and that peculiar feeling low in her belly every time she thought of him had long since eclipsed any doubts she may have had.

 

She scooped the bundle up in her arms and grabbed a candlestick on the way out of her room, intent on crossing the courtyard over to his rooms.

 

The walk was quick, and soon she stood in front of his door, the present tucked under one arm as it held the candlestick, the other hanging in mid-air as she paused before knocking on the wooden door. She pushed the butterflies down, and quickly replayed the fantasy of what she imagined would happen tonight before thrumming three times on his door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, giiiiiirl, I'm nervous for ya!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lemons. Lemons. Lemonslemonslemons. Be warned. ;D
> 
> And smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Sansa. You little minx.
> 
> BTW, one of the lines is blatantly borrowed from Andrew McMahon, called "Satellites." If you've heard it, you'll recognize the line, but I don't want to spoil it ahead of time.

* * *

 

The events of the evening replayed themselves for him as he settled in for the evening, taking up his nightly routine, _fuck, again,_ as he closed his eyes and imagined her stepping in front of him, in his cloak… He slipped his hand in his breeches, feeling the familiar strain there. He'd long since given up trying to shove her from his thoughts. _Gods, she was gorgeous tonight._ And he was still a little in shock about how it had ended. _I'm never going to be able to be with another woman. She's ruined me for all the others. Perfection does that,_ he thought bemusedly.

 

Just as he was drifting into that warm, overused, happy vision of his imagination, he heard a faint knocking at his door. Alarmed, he shot up and straightened himself up, trying to think of anything other than what he was just thinking about, anything other than Sansa. “Who's there?” he demanded gruffly.

 

“Little bird,” replied the voice on the other side of the door. “I've come to give you your nameday gift.”

 

His massive shoulders instantly relaxed. No longer on the defense, though still highly aware of what he had been doing and now knowing that she was just on the other side of the door while he was doing it... _Fuck._

 

He unlatched the door and motioned for her to come inside. She gingerly stepped over the threshold and he closed the door behind her.

 

She set her candle down on the table near the door and turned to face him. Inquisitive grey eyes looked back at her from under his lanky black hair, faint beads of sweat in relief on his strong brow. _Gods, I must be a sight in this state._

 

“Did I interrupt something?” she asked, scanning the room.

 

“No, little bird, I...” he trailed off, not really knowing or, frankly, wanting to explain what had him in such a state.

 

“No need to explain.” She extended her arms, presenting the folded bundle of cloth.

 

“What's this?” He gently took it from her, brushing his hands over hers in the motion of doing so. He noticed her eyes drifting to his hands as a slight blush appeared on her cheeks.

 

“It's for your nameday. I thought it only right seeing that you gave me that beautiful needle case for mine. I'm returning the favor.”

 

“Thank you, little bird. You really didn't have to-” he cut himself off as he pulled on the ribbon and unfurled the cloth. She had made him a cloak with his family crest. Three beautifully embroidered dogs snarled in the middle of a field of mustard melton wool. The collar and edges were lined in incredibly soft black rabbit fur, and the lining was a soft inky black lambswool. He ran his finger over the dogs, astounded by the amount of work she must have put into stitching each one. “Little bird,” he breathed, barely audible.

 

She clasped her hand in front of her, a smile spreading across her face. She was clearly proud of her work. “Oh, look on the inside. There's something special in there for you.”

 

There, on the inside of the neck of the cloak was a small little embroidery of a grey wolf hound with a little red bird perched upon his back. “I… I…” He couldn't even finish his sentence.

 

Sansa reached up and circled her arms around his neck. “Shh. You don't need to say anything.” She held him there, clasped tightly in her embrace, and waited for him to reciprocate. Slowly, he wrapped his muscled arms around her thin waist and buried his face in her hair. She smelled of lemoncakes and lavender, and he couldn't get enough. They stood like that for some moments, her seeming to comfort him, and he just absorbing into the comfort. _Much better than a cloak,_ she thought, settling her debate about which was better.

 

“No one has ever… Sansa, you're the only one who's ever...” He stumbled over his words and pulled out of their embrace. Her Tully blue eyes met his, ever clouded and grey like the storms of winter. She reached out a hand and touched his cheek, feeling the wetness there, silently streaming down from those grey eyes. Suddenly, she closed the gap between them, placing the most delicate of kisses over his ruined lips.

 

“Sansa, I...”

 

“Shh, Sandor.” The way she said it, _almost like she wants more_. Cautiously, he lowered his mouth to hers, and she kissed him _back_ , yielding to the gentle pressure. Their lips danced together, experimentally at first, and then hungrily. She was the one who deepened the kiss, but he did not pull back. He slid his tongue against her soft lips, silently asking for permission. She granted him access and when he entered her mouth, she moaned softly. _That's the sweetest fucking sound I've ever heard._

 

He broke the kiss and held her at arms' distance, clasping her delicate shoulders in his muscled hands. “Sansa, I have wanted you for so long.”

 

* * *

 

She never expected him to say it. She knew, she thought, that it was true for some time now. How careful he always was with her. The special attention he paid her. Those beautiful needles and the case. He'd come a long way from how he'd treated her in King's Landing. Before, he was always trying to get a rise out of her. Anything to get her attention, though if she were honest, he always went about it wrong. He seemed to have settled down now. The rage had calmed in him. The time he spent on the Quiet Isle had done him some good. The time he had spent throwing his energy into training the boys had done him some good, too, she remembered. And then the image of him moving so expertly with the sword flashed in her mind, and she felt that same feeling low in her belly. _How peculiar is that feeling?_

 

Tenderly, she picked up one of his massive hands in her little one, and threaded their fingers together. “Me, too, Sandor.” _Gods, I hope I'm not making the wrong decision here._

 

She knew she was no longer wanted for any marriage alliances. Jon had been frank enough about that. Not after what happened with Tyrion and Littlefinger and the Boltons. His heart went out to her, and deep down she knew that he really meant no ill feelings toward her, but she also knew that no highborn would have her now after she had been traded between so many men. It had been years and no offers had been made for her hand. She was tired of waiting. Tired of waiting to know what it would be like _to be_ with someone out of her own free will.

 

Suddenly, she dropped his hand and stooped to pick up the cloak that he had gently, almost regretfully, dropped on the floor as they had begun kissing each other. _But better to have both his arms around me_ , she mused. She picked it up by the corners of the neck and handed it to him, making sure the lining was toward her. “Here, would you mind holding this for a moment?”

 

He looked at her quizically, but obliged. “Look away, please, Ser.”

 

“I am no Ser, little bird, you know that.”

 

“I know,” she chided. But he looked away, sure enough, and she took to unfastening her dress. She let it fall to the floor and took the cloak from him to cover her now naked body. She made sure to hold it closed all the way, and it was surely big enough to. She was almost swimming in it. She carefully reached up and pulled the pins from her hair, shaking it so it fell around her shoulders. “You can look, now.”

 

He turned his head to her, and took in the sight in front of him. It was as if his dream had manifested to reality. There she stood, proudly wrapped in his cloak, the very one that she had presented to him just moments ago. Her gorgeous hair splayed over her shoulders and her blue eyes dazzled in the flickering light from the candle. He couldn't believe this was happening.

 

_Seven Hells, what am I doing? He's just standing there, looking at me like I'm a woman possessed._ But she couldn't go back now.  Her curiosity wouldn't let her.

 

* * *

 

He just stood there, frozen, hardly believing what was right in front of him. He could feel his  breeches getting tighter, imagining how this dream normally ended.  _It must be dream. This couldn't possibly happen in real life._

 

“Your turn.” Her voice snapped him back into the present. 

 

His mouth had gone dry. He tried to swallow and managed to croak out, “What, little bird? What do you mean, 'my turn?'”

 

She couldn't believe she had even gotten herself this far. How improper of a lady. But  _damnit_ , she was tired of everybody else making her decisions for her. She'd been dreaming about him for years now, about that kiss that she seemed to remember happening on the night of the battle of the Blackwater. Only now, it wasn't just his kisses that visited her in her sleep, and she wanted to know  more. She wanted to know the truth of what it felt like to be pressed up against him, exhausted after rolling around in his bed. “Take your tunic off.  I want to see you.”  _Brazen, indeed._

 

He hesitated for a moment before reaching behind his head to pull his tunic off.  He stood before her, unsure of what she was getting at, but having a  _pretty damned good idea_ where it was heading. He watched as her eyes devoured his half-naked form. He ran his hands through his hair, combing it back and away from his face, to better be able to stare back at her. He tightened his stomach muscles as he did so, just to see what she would do, showing off a little. He knew he was more powerfully built than most men, but then again, most men didn't have  _half of their fucking faces melted_ , either. But that didn't seem to detract from the moment, as he saw the corners of her mouth slowly curl up in a smile and her eyes raise to his. 

 

She stepped forward and  hesitantly placed a delicate hand on his chest, right over his pounding heart. She was still smiling as she raised up on her tiptoes to place another kiss on his ruined lips.  _Soft, so soft_ . They deepened the kiss again, and he felt her fingertips sliding down the length of his stomach, feeling the soft hair that covered it, but they kept going, lower, lower.  
  


At the feeling of her fingers tugging at the laces of his breeches, his breath hitched. “Little bird. What are you doing?”

 

A devilish cloud flashed through her eyes and she just grinned for a moment. “Exactly what both of us have been wanting to do.”

 

“Are you sure?” He couldn't help the words coming out in a growl as she continued tugging on the laces.

 

“I've been sure, Sandor. I've thought about it. I've thought about _you.”_ She couldn't believe that she was confessing that, but really, at this point, was there anything left to hide? _For gods' sake, I'm unlacing his breeches while I'm standing here naked except for his cloak._ With that, she slipped the index finger of each hand under the waistband of his breeches, tickling the flesh underneath as she dragged her nail over to his hips, eliciting a moan from the man looming over her. She stole a glance at his face, and his eyes were clamped shut, his face contorted in a cross between pleasure and restraint. “ Are _you_ sure,” she teased, as she pushed his breeches down hips and let them fall to the floor.

 

“I've never been more sure of anything.” His eyes never left hers as she backed up to look at him. She shrugged her shoulders and let the cloak fall to the floor. And there she stood, all of her girlishness naivety shed when she heard the fabric hit the stone floor. “Gods, Sansa, of all the things my eyes have seen the best by far is you.” 

 

He watched a blush blossom over her cheeks, spreading down her neck and the top of her chest, and his eyes continued down, coming to rest on her breasts. He reached out to her then, wrapping a strong arm around her waist and pulling her in for another kiss. His free hand found her breast, and squeezed gently as he ran his thumb over the pink bud of her nipple. _Perfect tits._ He almost scolded himself inwardly for thinking of her so crudely, but all was forgotten as a moan escaped her kiss-swollen lips.  He pressed her to him, the proud arousal of his cock surrounded by the soft skin of her belly. He stooped to suckle at her neck, his hand moving from her waist to cradle the back of her head as she let it fall back, allowing him full access. 

 

Her hands roamed over his body, taking in the feeling of the ridges of the taut muscles that formed the  _V_   leading to his manhood, up his sides, resting on his ribcage, feeling his heavy breaths. They continued up, climbing the mountains of his shoulders, around his neck, over to the scarred side of his face. He stilled for a moment before continuing his ministrations on her neck, over her shoulders, across her arms. She placed hot, wet  kisses everywhere she could reach, tasting the saltiness of his skin.

 

His hands slid down her back, grabbing her arse and lifting her so her legs wrapped around his waist. He carried them over to his bed, immediately wishing it was perhaps softer. It was just a straw-stuffed mattress and it was good enough for him, but he thought surely it would be nicer for her if it were a featherbed. He walked them back over to the cloak on the floor and bent picked it up, clutching her to him with one arm as he did so. The sudden dip shifted her sex against his cock and he let out a growl, matching the moan that fluttered out from her perfect mouth. He flung the cloak  out  on top of the bed and laid her down on top of it. He covered her, an arm on each side of her as he kissed his way down her chest, paying special attention to her nipples as more moans rolled up from her throat. He kept kissing on his way down her belly, hands massaging her sides as he got lower. 

 

Admittedly, he had no idea what he was going to do when he got down there- none of the whores he'd ever been with had been able to find their release with him. They were always shutting their eyes and turning their heads away from him, probably hoping for his rutting to be over as soon as possible. He just knew that the sweet sounds coming from her writhing body underneath him made him want to do it all the more. Tentatively, he pulled her long legs over his shoulders as he crouched at the side of the bed. He trailed kisses down each one of her inner thighs, the scratchy stubble on his face seeming to tickle her as she giggled. Finally, he reached the triangle of auburn curls at the juncture of her legs, thinking one last time on the absolute inexperience of his movements. He pressed a kiss there, just above her entrance, and her legs involuntarily pulled him closer.  _Seems to like that_ , he thought happily. He slid his tongue out, tasting her, feeling how absolutely  _wet_ she was, until he found a little bud just at the top. As his tongue grazed over it, her breathing shuttered and he could feel her muscles tense up. 

 

“Oh, gods, Sandor. Yes, yes, please do that.” _Hmm, still can't forget her manners._ Encouraged, he continued licking and suckling  in earnest at the little nub until she was breathing quite heavily. He wondered what she would feel like, he couldn't resist getting a preview of what was in store for _him,_ and he slipped a finger into her. “Sandorrrrrr” she panted, and he could feel what he could only assume was her release all around him, the spasms around his finger, her legs almost crushing him to her, her hand suddenly grabbing at his hair. He couldn't help it as a  proud smirk crept across his face. 

 

S he propped herself up on her elbows, looking at his beaming face between her legs. She grabbed at his shoulders, bringing him up to kiss her, taking his weight as he settled over her again. She could feel the scars all over him as she ran her hands up his back. He was everything she was not. She was soft and unblemished where he was hardened and destroyed, and it made her want to kiss away all the pain that had ever been inflicted on him. She could feel cock sliding over her sex as they moved, their hips  slowly thrusting to meet each other. 

 

“Sandor,” she breathed as she broke their kiss, “I want you inside me. Now.” His eyes searched hers once more for any sign of doubt before he adjusted _just so_ and moved to slide inside her. “Quickly. Do it quickly, please.”

 

H e obliged and thrust into her until he was completely surrounded by her warmth.  _Seven hells, she feels so good._ He stilled, letting her adjust to his considerable size, searching her face for any sign for him to stop. Her eyes were squeezed shut and she sucked in a breath of air through gritted teeth, but as he reached up to cup her cheek, she nuzzled into his hand. Her hips rolled against his and he took that as her silent request for more. He began moving in and out, slowly at first, savoring the sensation of her gripping him so tightly. Her hands roamed over his shoulders, down lower and lower until he felt them rest over his arse. As he lowered his mouth to pull her nipple into it, he couldn't help it as his lips curled up into an amused smile. 

 

He wrapped one of his arms under her, resting his weight on it and pulling her closer to him. The other made its way between them, searching for that bud he'd found earlier.  _If it worked once…_ He sped up his thrusts as he moved his thumb over the sensitive spot and he felt her hands grab his arse harder. He could tell she was getting close, if before had been any indication. 

 

“Gods, Sandor, don't stop.” As if he needed any more encouragement. He sped up and very quickly, he saw her beautiful blue eyes drift from his and clamp shut, her mouth twisted into something between a smile and grimace. He felt her release before he truly knew it was upon her, and suddenly, he felt his, too, his balls tightening as he reached the brink and spilled his seed inside her. He breathed her name over and over as he thrust a few more times, carefully lowering them back down from their high.

 

Regrettably, he pulled away from her and crawled up on the bed, motioning for her to scoot up to him. She followed and curled around him. He pulled the cloak up to cover them as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, her head coming to rest just at the juncture of his arm and chest. She nuzzled into him, breathing deeply as her hand wrapped around his stomach, sealing their embrace. He planted a kiss on the top of her head as he thought about how this nameday had turned out to be something completely different from what he'd expected.

 

“Sandor?”

 

“Hmm? Little bird?” 

 

“I've wanted that for a long time now. Thank you.” She thought bemusedly that her fantasy had turned out quite a bit better than she thought originally.

 

He couldn't restrain the chuckle that shook him. “Thank you? Little bird, you're the best thing that's ever come into my life.”

 

“I'm glad it was with you.”

 

“Me, too, little bird.” He murmured as he rested his chin above her head. Together, they slipped into the deepest sleep either of them had ever had, a feeling of safety, and acceptance, and _home_ wrapping around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEEEEEEEEEEEE
> 
> *takes a bow*
> 
> Thank you all for being awesome. I truly just posted this for shits and giggles, and never expected so many comments or kudos or views for that matter. I really didn't have intentions for this other than a little scene playing in my head put to words. But I deeply appreciate the kind words. They make me want to continue this writing business. :)
> 
> Cheers! And happy 4th to those of you who are stateside. Out with a *bang* if I must admit. ;)


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